


Intersections

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fate is a Little Shit, M/M, Suffering, fuck you fate you fucking asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 21:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6209989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up to a different time, seeing a different world with what seemed like the same eyes, being called a different name than who he thought he was, remembering things other people say never happened; Eren was confused as a child.</p><p>Years later, when he finally makes sense of the blur of visions and dreams and nightmares, he remembers love. It was the love he felt, both in the past and the present, for a person who wasn’t there, and because of that fact he resolved himself to wait. He would wait and he would search with the four letters of a man’s name never leaving his mind.</p><p>[Reincarnation AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intersections

**Author's Note:**

> Now revised!
> 
>  **EDIT:** Hi, Reader-chan! I'm Vera, the author, and I'm here to issue an extra warning for angst. I tried to limit the amount of angst this fic has, but was unsuccessful. However, I still don't believe that this fic is _that_ sad, really, so it's up for argument.

Waking up to a different time, seeing a different world with what seemed like the same eyes, being called a different name than who he thought he was, remembering things other people say never happened; Eren was confused as a child.

He tried telling his parents of the visions and the dreams that he saw each night, recounting them with as much detail an eight year-old boy could manage. He told them of the dreams he had of an older version of himself (a more _jaded_ version of himself, he learned the word to describe he in his dreams later on) who soared the skies and battled giants with two sharp swords. He told them of green cloaks imprinted with two intersecting wings, one blue and one white, that he could see fluttering in the wind as the people who wore them had their backs to him. He told them that he had been chained and imprisoned, the only things visible to him being brick walls.

His parents didn’t believe him; nobody did. They told him that those dreams were only dreams and didn’t mean anything. The events never happened. The people didn’t exist.

When he reached fourth grade, the teal-eyed boy started writing down what he dreamed of. His English teacher in the sixth grade told him that he had a radiant imagination and had the potential to be a great writer someday with his dreams he was then able to retell more extravagantly and with use of more words.

(The boy tried his best to learn more new words by the day. He wanted to be able to describe his dreams accurately from what he recalls he saw. There were so many colors; so many different shades of them. He found himself enraptured by the countless colors.)

…

One night, he was awoken by his own terrified screaming. He sat up in bed, sweaty forehead and hands. He looked around where he was, almost expecting the brick walls of the dungeon in his dreams but instead he was greeted with his own bedroom. He was genuinely surprised until both his mother and father burst into his room, panicked expressions on their faces.

(The boy was scared out of his mind. The line between reality and his dreams seemed to be blurred.)

 _“Why were you screaming, son?”_ His mother asked.

The boy paused. He hesitated a bit before answering, _“Just a bad dream. Sorry for scaring you.”_

His parents comforted him then, telling him that it wasn’t his fault he had a bad dream. That was the first time he stopped himself from saying anything about his strange dreams. It was the first time he had lied about the real reason for the eccentricities only he experienced.

(Keeping it all to himself was hard, but it was infinitely better than being called crazy by his peers.)

…

When the brunette entered middle school, he had ceased letting people know about his dreams and the flashes of visions in a completely different world. He never mentioned it to his peers, never talked about it with his teachers and didn’t so much as utter a word about it at home to his parents.

(He never stopped writing about them, though.)

Unfortunately, the nightmare he’d had the year before was only the first of many. The giants were chasing him, absolutely horrifying expressions on their already scary faces. The brunette was alone; the people with the green cloaks nowhere to be seen. Those giants were always chasing him and he always tried to fight them and conquer them all by himself.

(It was dark all around him. Everything looked the same. He wanted to get out of that place he was trapped in but the more he ran, the more giants appeared.)

He fought them with his bare hands, seeing in the eyes of himself that was, in some way, able to be at the same level as the giants sometimes. Other times, they towered over him, easily able to trample and kill him with their sheer advantage in size and weight.

He ran. He flew. He tried to escape. And yet, in the end the giants always caught up and before he knew it they were right behind him, himself only being one measly step ahead. Their hands were outstretched and grasping towards him, mouths opening and closing.

Just when he thought they were going to grab him with their large hands he would wake up in a cold sweat, the familiar sight of his bedroom bringing him back to reality bit by bit.

…

Titans; the giants in his dreams were called titans, the youth had recollected.

The word was on his mind for the entirety of the day he remembered. Titans were all he could think about. They had his brows furrowed, hands clenched into fists and mind wandering. The idea of them made his blood boil and later, later on in the day, the brunette released the pressure he’d accumulated over the course of the day by punching a wall on his way home from school until his hands bled.

His mother and father were horrified at the sight of his hands once he’d gotten home, his mother chastising him with a voice that constantly cracked as she gently bandaged up his wounds.

The teal-eyed boy kept silent the whole time but when his mother finished with his wounds, he threw his arms around her neck and sobbed into her shoulder.

(There was a woman in his visions; soft amber eyes, sweet smile and a face that was oddly similar to his. The he in that vision called her ‘mom’ and was powerless as the titans picked her up and devoured her.

The titans made his blood boil and his vision turn red.)

…

Paper bags cradled in his shoulders, the young teen went out of the small school and office supplies shop and started making his way back to school. There weren’t a lot of people that day and just as he was about to turn at a corner, he caught sight of a female saleslady of a clothing store wrapping a red scarf around the neck of a mannequin with short, dark hair and a featureless face. It made him stop in his tracks.

Cerulean orbs gazed intensely at the lifeless model, voices ringing in his ears when nobody was actually talking to him and visions flashing right in front of his eyes.

(The brunette had a hard time finding sleep that night for every time he closed his eyes, short, black hair, coal eyes, stoic features and words that expressed worry kept him from doing so.)

…

The teal-eyed boy was outside an operating room and sitting on a bench beside the door, looking frantically back and forth. A classmate of his and also a close friend was hospitalized because she had been hit by a car while she was riding her bicycle on the way home from school. He kept staring at the clock that ticked agonizingly slow.

One of his classmates had come to his house and informed him of the situation, short of breath and clearly having run to the brunette’s house just to do so.

 _“How’s Faye doing?”_ He asked once the two of them arrived at the hospital.

 _“Good, thankfully,”_ the blonde-haired girl who had been waiting for them replied.

Her statement had been enough to temporarily calm the brunette’s nerves but after the two had gone home for the night, he stayed. The idea of leaving a friend at a dire time detested him because for all he knew, this situation could be a repeat performance of what happened in his dream a week ago: all of his friends died and he didn’t even realize it until it had already happened.

…

At seventeen, he first read about reincarnation. The idea of a past life and getting memories in the present life about said past life was foreign to him, but unsurprisingly he was coming to conclusions as soon as someone could snap a finger.

It made more sense now. The dreams, the visions, the random flashes that would take him away from wherever he was and bring him somewhere that didn’t exist for a mere second – they were memories and ever since then the teen blamed the memories for everything.

He blamed them for showing him short, insignificant moments that shouldn’t matter but did because he remembered more than he didn’t.

_Eren Yeager._

The name he longs to be called by. No one will ever call him by that name because Eren Yeager doesn’t exist.

_Mikasa Ackerman. Armin Arlert._

Family. He couldn’t anymore worry for them because they didn’t exist.

_Humanity’s Last Hope. Titan-shifter.Monster child._

Now, he was just one face in the crowd that blurred into the background.

The brunette blamed his memories but also blamed fate because somehow reincarnation made him aware more than he had ever been of the fact that he was alone.

(He had his parents that were both alive in this life and he was thankful for that. He also had his friends who don’t suddenly die in this life and the fact that he didn’t have to worry about whether they’ll all be able to see the next sunrise sent relief coursing through his veins. However, only he carries these memories and no one will ever acknowledge that a world infested with titans in which humanity hid behind walls once existed. At the end of it all, he couldn’t tell anyone in hopes that people would believe him and he was left to suffer under the weight of memories of a past life that he, alone, knew of.)

…

The strange teen with cerulean eyes who always stared so far away dreamt of short, little moments in time. What were remembered were always the battles, the confrontations, the moments of truth, the new beginnings, and the deciding endings. What weren’t seen or remembered were dark moments when the characters in a story weren’t able to go on. They would stop because they’ve lost hope and they felt weak and couldn’t, for the life of them, figure out how they were supposed to go on and look ahead of them.

The monster child who was feared yet expected to save everyone sat on the stairs right outside of a castle, crying. There was a man with him but no words were uttered between them.

While the boy was cradling his head in his hands, the man leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. He didn’t try to comfort the boy; to hold him or reassure him. He simply stood there and although at first glance, there was no emotion on his face, his silvery-blue eyes flickered with something that was unreadable.

That was the reason he was even there in the first place. The young soldier would never be able to bear asking more of him.

The boy started to wake then, and the dream was over. That was the first time he’d dreamt of _him._

…

 _“Sir, pardon my language, but what the hell do you mean I’m not included in this mission outside the walls?” The titan-shifter asked, changing his pace from relaxed steps to brisk strides in order to keep up with his superior. Strange how the – and dare he ever say this to the man’s face – short soldier had shorter legs but was somehow able to walk faster and just generally_ be _faster than him. It appeared that what he lacked, he made up for tenfold in everything else, just like what people say._

_“Exactly what it sounds like,” The raven responded seriously, not even looking up from the pieces of paperwork he was reviewing._

_“But Corporal, I don’t–”_

_“Relax kid, just because you aren’t going to be there to bite your hand and turn into a titan means every other Survey Corps soldier is doomed to die.” The silver-eyed man stopped walking then, finally meeting the youth soldier’s eyes._

_“That wasn’t what I was implying, sir!” The brunette defended, cheeks flushing red._

And then there was an incessant ringing sound that made the eighteen-year-old snap up in bed and angrily shut his alarm clock up. He got out of bed, remnants of sleep still willing his eyelids to droop and the soft mattress of his bed tempting him to go back to sleep and giving him what was most likely false hope to resume the dream he was having.

He almost, almost wanted to do exactly that; almost, almost wanted to hope that maybe the dream _would_ resume if he tried to go back to sleep and maybe he would see the Corporal’s smile… but even he wasn’t stupid enough to expect something like that to happen hence he carried on with his morning’s routine.

…

There were wings on his back and he faced towards the future instead of looking back and regretting what happened in the past. He was inspiration. He was strength. He was a symbol, not a human.

Details of who he was as a person were unknown; if the boy ever found out anything about him except that he was Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, his ideal image of him would be ruined.

(Contrary to popular belief, he was human, too, and that made him imperfect like everybody else.)

To Eren, he was his hero. Not another human just like him. He wouldn’t accept being made to believe otherwise even though his idealism was plainly stupid bullshit and he needed to grow up to accept that.

He wasn’t supposed to meet his hero because you should never meet your heroes.

He wasn’t supposed to come to his senses, forget about the hero worship and start seeing his superior officer as a fellow human being who followed orders just like everyone else.

He wasn’t supposed to know that his hero cared about the young soldier’s opinion of him and that he didn’t want to do anything other than protect him for he saw him as a child who was, in all actuality, too young to be wearing a suit of armor and wielding swords.

(And being feared and distrusted by humanity yet being made to carry on his back its desire for freedom and a world without titans. He wasn’t a warrior, bred to fight. He was a child; a child who got intimidated by the idea of a young death and got exasperated by the sight of injustice. For _him_ , relying on hope to be able to magically fix everything was a despicable thought.)

He wasn’t supposed to know his little quirks and eccentricities and how a dirty environment to work in always succeeds to tick him off.

He wasn’t supposed to know that he felt devastated every time he wasn’t able to prevent a comrade’s death.

He wasn’t supposed to know that his hair wasn’t actually black, but a shade so dark it was often mistaken as such.

(He wasn’t supposed to be able to get close enough to notice that.)

He wasn’t supposed to know how beautiful his smile was.

(And what made it beautiful was that he rarely ever smiled.)

He wasn’t supposed to fall enraptured by all those human qualities about him. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with them; with him.

His hero wasn’t supposed to have a name; the symbol that made him want to try saving the world over and over and over again wasn’t supposed to have a name. And yet, he did.

_Levi Ackerman._

(He was never supposed to be chased after.)

…

Many years later, he made sense of his memories at last, having remembered most of his past life. The whole process of remembering had been gradual and took several years of his life but, now, he figures that he didn’t really differ all that much from the past version of himself and the memories only served to shape him into the person he had been in that life. Worst of all, though, his memories made him want to hope.

Those wretched but at the same time priceless memories of a cruel yet beautiful world made him want to hope that maybe, just maybe, if he was able to keep his promise of staying alive and getting another chance, Levi did, too.

The thought made a bitter pain bloom in his chest because, exactly how possible even is that? It was a nice thought to hold onto to induce hope but, let’s be real here, just how possible is it to find one person amongst millions and millions of others and in such a big world where the thousands of people you pass by every single day you probably will never pass by again. For all he knows, he might have already had that one chance to pass him by and it was during the years of his life when he didn’t remember yet.

But who was Eren Yeager again? He was the young soldier with the desire to kill all titans no matter how impossible it was. He didn’t change despite the fact that he had already been eaten by a titan once and instead used his newly-discovered ability to transform into one of the very creatures he wanted to kill every one of so that he could fight for humanity. All the odds were against him, he knew almost nothing about the big picture and he didn’t care. He fought tooth and nail until he drowned in blood and he was able to get what he wanted even if it was the last thing he did to kill the last titan standing, himself, for the sake of humanity finally living without worry after living so long as livestock and in fear of the titans.

He takes it back, after all he isn’t exactly like his past self who gladly turned his back against everything else and only saw the prize that was waiting for him in the end. The larger part of himself knows the futility, the impossibility, the feeling of hopelessness, the pain and the suffering… but there was a small part that refused to accept it and that part was consumed wholly by the love he felt, both in the past and in the present, for a person who didn’t exist.

This love fueled him and kept his feet moving. It kept his eyes searching in all directions, ready to single out the one man he was pining for, longing for, _yearning_ for.

(He pined for happiness flickering behind cobalt grey orbs and, very rarely, the small smile that accompanied it. He longed for calloused hands cupping his face and stroking his cheeks. He yearned for the amazing feeling of warmth he barely remembered that settled in his chest as his hair was roughly – yet somehow affectionately – ruffled.)

It kept him waiting for the day when he would finally find the love of his, of Eren Yeager’s, life.

And so he kept waiting for that one fateful day. He kept searching the world over, the memories of Levi’s name and his face and his voice never leaving his mind. This time, he wouldn’t forget.

…

Days pass. He isn’t going to give up so easily.

( _The titan-shifter’s fellow squad members had their weapons pointed towards him. They didn’t trust him. They thought he was just like every other titan they’ve faced and will mindlessly and mercilessly devour them as well._

 _“Stand down!” A voice commands and when the soldier’s eyes clear, he sees that the Corporal has his back turned against him, unlike the others._ )

…

Weeks pass. Just what would his former superior officer think if he had simply given up on finding him in this life?

( _The dining hall is quiet now, only two of the six seats around the table occupied. Everything that happened is his fault. His squad members’ deaths are his fault. He made the wrong choice. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fault. It’s his fau–_

_The Corporal doesn’t tell him that it’s the brunette’s fault that his squad is dead. He doesn’t blame him. He never does. Instead he tells him that no one could have predicted the outcome of his decision._

_What if it really isn’t his fault after all? It was a strange and foreign thought._ )

…

Months pass. Their promise is timeless.

( _Suspended by chains, the soldier says that he would happily give his life away to be eaten so that humanity can finally fight against the titans. He was ready to die._

_One moment it was just the three of them in that large cave, but then his squad is suddenly there. They’re trying to free him from his bounds._

_“Eren, I’m sorry for always doing this to you, but do whatever you want.” Corporal Levi tells him, his voice pained. Why is he the one who’s apologizing? The teal-eyed soldier was the one who was never able to do anything that made a big difference. Everything he did and everything he didn’t do always ended with either his comrades dying, people dying and everyone else’s efforts wasted because he had failed to complete his mission and fulfill his purpose._

_How on earth did he deserve the people on his side? How the hell did he deserve Levi? These were two of his greatest questions._ )

…

Years pass. He will never believe that fate would purposely keep them apart.

( _“You are my hope. You’re the only one,” Levi all but whispers and in that moment, he stops caring. He stops caring about the many times the same man told him that in a world like theirs, there would never be a ‘right time’ and that he didn’t want to hurt him._

_(And he didn’t want to get hurt as well because he couldn’t calculate just how many more times his broken, little heart could take the same kind of anguish.)_

_However, the brunette stops caring about everything else in this world and closes the distance between them. He knew it was selfish, but who cares about tomorrow when they had today?_ )

…

More years pass. Time is a formidable opponent, but he had already lived through hell in one lifetime. He isn’t going to lose.

( _“If there’s a next life… then there’s a right time, too.”_ )

…

Decades pass. He knows that his time is not eternal and this only makes his resolve grow stronger. He still doesn’t let time win against him.

His youthful days had passed by and faded away. His sharp features grew different; older, softer, it wasn’t the same. His hair became grey. His steps became slower and even hope, oh stupid, blind hope, wasn’t enough to make him run anymore. His eyes found it difficult to continue searching because his vision blurred more and more. At this point he probably won’t be strong enough to extend his hand ahead of him and call out. Had he finally lost to time?

No, because in a small town in Italy, the fateful day he had been waiting for all his life finally arrived.

The teal-eyed man was sitting on a park bench, gazing at the sunset and ready to admit to time that he had lost when,

“Eren? Is it you?” The voice was familiar and he turned his gaze to his left to be greeted by the first person in this entire lifetime to call him by that name.

“Annie?” The blonde smiled at him and it was the first time he’d seen her do so, past life included. She was still young, most likely somewhere in her mid-thirties.

“Seems like you remember,” she says and to that, Eren gives a dry chuckle.

“Unfortunately.” And then he hears, barely so, a small sound that draws his attention downward.

There’s a child that’s probably only a little older than a toddler who seems to be hiding behind Annie; a child with raven hair and silver eyes. Eren’s own eyes widen.

89 years. 1,068 months. 4,272 weeks. 32,485 days. 779,640 hours. 46,778,400 minutes. 2,806,704,000 seconds.

(Oh time, how dare you?)

“Is that…?” He trails off, his voice breathy and his question can be barely considered as a whisper. Still, the woman hears him.

“Levi, say hello. This is Eren, an old friend of mommy’s.” The child stays hidden.

Eren smiles at him then, eyes crinkling, as he holds out a hand and says, “It’s nice to meet you.”

(His heart is aching. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to curse profanities at time because of how cruel it is. He wants to curse at fate, as well. Oh fate, you dragged time into this, didn’t you? This is, hands down, the longest and most heartless prank in history, fate, do you realize that?)

Characteristically, as if the child was the exact, same person Eren knew, he freezes up at the sight of Eren’s smile. Just like he always did back then.

(Eren had always thought that the Corporal hated it. Much later, when he mentioned it in conversation as they lay side by side, he told the brunette – barely audibly so – that Eren’s smile was like sunshine and it blinded him with its pure white light.)

Now, Eren wants to thank fate. He wants to thank time. He has lasted long enough to see through to the day when the fateful meeting he had been waiting and hoping for his whole life finally happened.

(He is sure that this time around, he had made the right choice never to lose hope because miracles do exist.)

Or maybe not long enough, after all, as he feels his chest constricting around him and his body growing numb.

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” he tells Annie, “but I have a prior engagement I have to attend to.” There’s a questioning look in her eyes for a second but in the next, she nods, quiet and knowing.

“It was nice meeting you, Levi.” He looks down at the young boy and smiles one last time before walking away from the two of them.

He turns at the nearest corner and the second he thinks he’s out of sight, he allows himself to pant heavily at the strain brought by trying to walk normally. He takes a few more steps further, limping and barely able to support his own weight this time. His poor, little heart is already too old for this.

Maybe next time is finally the right time, he hopes, because no matter how many times he’s reincarnated, he’s still the same stupid fool who even after endless trials and tribulations will still, _still,_ crawl his way back up from hell through sheer willpower alone.

That willpower is going to command his heart to hope, after everything, because that’s who Eren Yeager is and despite the fact that his name doesn’t exist and his identity is forgotten, his memories will continue to exist within the clueless infant body of the young child with cerulean eyes and brunette hair who had his youth taken away because he had lost a battle against time.

No, not maybe. Next time will _definitely_ be the right time. Time will _definitely_ lose to him next time.

(And he’ll be ready to grin brightly, triumphantly, and see how it will affect Levi then.)

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Late again, are we, newbie?”

The raven scoffs.

“Shut the fuck up. Everyone in the entire goddamn solar system’s in Venus right now so it’s not like I’d be doing anything other than just sit this entire shift.”

The green blob of garbage then chuckles at him and pats him on the back as the silver-eyed man passes him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just do what you’re paid to do and maybe after ten years, your good attitude’s gonna get you a raise.”

The young man simply rolls his eyes at his co-worker and sits down in the large chair in front of twelve monitors and a control panel with a grimace. Everything in this place looks wrong; feels wrong.

The way the monitors are mounted on the wall and positioned beside, below and above each other makes it look asymmetrical. No matter what angle you look at the setup from, it doesn’t look symmetrical. It’s irritating.

The table at his side where files in hard copy form lay messily and unorganized has uneven legs. It’s exasperating.

Who would be able to stand such a workplace for four months? The raven did, but he is most definitely not happy about it.

Also, the air’s stinking again. Fucking Blobby.

…

For the most part, the work day _is_ a slow one just like he expected. The raven barely sees, like, twelve ships go through the stargate. Either people aren’t in a hurry enough to lose thirty minutes of flying or Neptune isn’t as popular a tourist spot like it used to be. Whatever.

After one and a half hour of nothing, a spaceship without a proper pass requests to enter the gate. From what’s seen in the top right monitor to which a security camera outside transmits, the ship is, in simple words, a heap of trash. For what must have been the umpteenth time that day, the raven rolls his eyes.

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but we can’t let any ship in without a pass.” He tells the pilot in a scripted manner, because that’s precisely what his words are. He isn’t straightened up in his seat, has his head leaning on a hand and his eyes are extremely closed to falling shut.

The man was never meant to work in the customer service field. Go figure. It just so happened that not everybody in the universe was born with a golden spoon in their mouth and some had to take any job they were qualified for. Two hundred or so years ago, this was already the situation practically everywhere and, surprise, surprise, nothing’s changed.

(Nothing probably ever will.)

_“Come on, I can tell you’re from Earth. Can’t you make an exception for a fellow human?”_

How presumptuous. The stranger got lucky and the raven was, indeed, human but that doesn’t automatically mean he was born and grew up on Earth and this random stranger was incredibly fucking stupid. Now, this kind of tactic would have made him laugh in any other situation. It would have certainly made him laugh. Only problem was, though, the pilot’s voice sounded a _little_ strange. Familiar, almost.

(Slightly breathy, a bit deep and undeniably smooth like honey. The kind that would make you shiver, or maybe that was just him.)

But that isn’t right; it doesn’t sit well with the raven.

Without missing a beat, he then tells the pilot of the ship, “And for that I’m going to need to see your license.”

The man groans but nonetheless, a window pops up on one of the many computer screens in front of the grey-eyed man and there’s only one thing going through his mind as he stares disbelievingly at the picture on the top left part of the license.

_No. Impossible. The ship’s pilot was unmistakably the man he has seen several times in his dreams._

He had surely missed a beat this time, staring wide-eyed at one of the twelve computer screens with his jaw slack. Only, now that this happened, he wasn’t sure if he’s gonna be able to go back into his previously disrupted rhythm.

(The ‘man in his dreams’ had a feel of spontaneity about him that hinted major changes were unavoidable if a person had him in their life and he was _pretty sure_ – even though the idea was insanely impossible on so many levels – that he’s met him.) 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also alternatively titled Everyday I’m Suffering. And spoiler: in the future bit, after, let’s say, a month(?) later, they’re probably already fucking. Let’s be honest here, I’m pretty sure no matter what lifetime or what AU, Eren and Levi aren’t gonna be able to not fall in love with each other so… happy end? Yeah, happy end.
> 
> If you didn't think that this fic was complete shit, PLEASE let me know. Comments and Kudos greatly appreciated!


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